A Clever Disguise
by Kay Willow
Summary: A chronicle of Leloucia vi Britannia: exiled princess, budding revolutionary, and make-believe male student at Ashford Academy. BEGINNINGS: Her reunion with Suzaku, her one-time best friend. //genderswap, crossdressing; various pairings//


**.a clever disguise: beginnings.**

.

For some reason, in spite of everything, Suzaku had never expected to find someone like this among the terrorists -- young, a boy probably no older than Suzaku himself, and Britannian, well-dressed in his school uniform. "Stay down," he commanded, cold, and started back to his feet. From the boy's reactions, Suzaku had the advantages of speed and strength, so there was no need to be cruel to him.

The Britannian student curled in on himself, coughing a little as Suzaku's weight suddenly left his ribs. Suzaku turned to the capsule, touching it gently with one gloved hand. There was no visible trigger or timer mechanism, so he signaled his findings quickly over his radio and then headed to search the rest of the truck. One unconscious, probably dying driver, and the boy, who was lying still, waiting for Suzaku to come back. His eyes were open and he seemed to be thinking quickly.

"The army will be here to collect you soon," Suzaku told him.

"I'm a duke's son," the boy said. "My name is Anthony Delaney. You don't have the authority to--"

"Don't bother lying to me," Suzaku interrupted. "I'm going to check you for weapons. If you struggle, I'll be forced to put you in handcuffs -- my lord."

If the story were true, he'd be in deep trouble for his handling of Britannian nobility; but as an honorary he would be in trouble for even knowing that Britannian nobility was associated with terrorists. On the other hand, why would the story be true? A duke's son had no reason to be here -- or to have taken so long to protest his treatment.

He turned the other boy onto his stomach and frisked him quickly, curt. He wasn't wearing any sort of armor at all, nothing thicker than cloth, but Suzaku's hands paused as he came to the young man's ribs. There was something...

Something.

"Sorry about this," Suzaku murmured, feeling more carefully, slowly, curving around to the chest. "It'll just be for a second..."

'Anthony' didn't move, cheek pressed into the metal floor of the truck, but he hissed, "Don't apologize." His voice was a low alto. "This sort of invasion should be _nothing_ for you. Don't you want to emulate your Britannian masters?"

Suzaku paused. It was a strange accusation to hear from a Britannian, the sort of scorn he'd only heard once before in a language not Japanese. Was he just disguised as a Britannian? His black hair could have been any nationality, but his pale skin was the right shade of peach, and the strange, exotic violet eyes glaring up at Suzaku...

It occurred to him very suddenly what might be under his gloved hands, and he froze.

"Leloucia?" he breathed.

Then the capsule opened with a flash, bright as a spring afternoon.

.

Rarely having socialized with the other children in the town surrounding his temple home, Suzaku hadn't realized how competitive he was until the Britannians had moved in. He raced through the fields laughing, ruthlessly using his stronger legs to carry him ahead to the overhanging canopy of the forest.

He slammed to a halt in a heartbeat, one hand bracing against the bark of the nearest tree, and turned to wait, hardly breathing hard but grinning ear-to-ear. A long minute passed; he listened to crickets and the wind rustling the green curtain of leaves above him.

Finally she stumbled into view, flushed and panting with the effort of rushing after him. No one would have known this disheveled creature with her long, flyaway black hair and her plain culottes for a Britannian princess.

"You're pitiful, Leloucia," Suzaku said, laughing. He almost felt sorry for her, but her narrow eyes and the annoyance he could see even despite her exhaustion were just too funny not to laugh at. "You give _girls_ a bad name."

"Shut up," she gasped, and ducked over, leaning on her knees while she caught her breath.

Suzaku dropped down to sit comfortably in the roots of the tree, patient now that he'd had his fun. "You should see the training regimen Toudou-san puts me through," he said, rolling his shoulders.

"Not Toudou again," Leloucia muttered. He elected to pretend he hadn't heard it.

"You'd _faint_. But girls don't learn kendo. What's that thing they do in Britannia? Fencing?" His eyebrows lifted, skeptical of the flimsy fencing blades he'd seen in books. He'd bet anything that even a Buriki wouldn't think that qualified as a sword; it was probably propaganda.

Leloucia lowered herself to the dirt and made an effort to regulate her breathing, arms curling over her knees. She managed, "I didn't -- take fencing lessons. --And-- kendo 's a stupid -- and misogynistic tradition."

Suzaku laughed again, slapping a hand on his knee, a habit he'd picked up from Toudou. Something about the lofty words and her breathless voice and the dirt on her flushed and sunburnt face and her eternal, unwavering criticism just struck him as completely hilarious. He could have risen to the bait and defended Japan, how their female soldiers learned kendo and other forms of martial arts combat with their marksmanship like in every other country, but there were much simpler things that he could counter with.

"What, you wanna try kendo?" he offered, grinning wide. He stood up again and reached for the bokken at his hip. "I dare you to just hold this for thirty minutes."

"Shut _up_. I'm not -- that weak." She was bristling with the indignity, and lifted her hands to take the wooden sword defiantly. "My mother, you know -- she was."

Her stubborn expression faltered for the first time, and Suzaku felt himself still, hesitating too. In the month since they'd become friends, she had never spoken of the woman whose death had brought two broken girls halfway around the world, alone. Neither of them had ever cried, to his knowledge; neither of them had ever stopped moving forward.

Leloucia's thin shoulders tightened, and she said, "My mother was one of the greatest warriors in the history of the Britannian Empire. They called her Marianne the Flash." She took the sword from his hands, and he let her, unsure. "I just thought you should know that if you don't let women fight, you might be missing out."

It wouldn't be right to say that she didn't seem much like her mother, would it? And not entirely true -- she had a warrior's spirit, if nothing else.

Suzaku sat in silence with her for a few minutes, until her breathing faded into the background, overwhelmed by the crickets and the wind. Then he shouldered his bag and said simply, "Let's keep going. Nunnally is waiting for us to bring back the plums."

"She won't be worried." Her eyes were unreadable. "She knows you're with me." And she pressed the sword back into his hands, but somehow Suzaku still felt like she was armored; like the women in the old samurai stories, defending what little home she had with naginata and life-breath.

.

_"Suzaku, I-- I'm--_

"I will _**destroy Britannia**__."_

And he knew that she was saying, I'm going to fight, if it's the last thing I do.

.

When the flare of light died down, Suzaku continued to hold his breath, tense, until a dull thud startled him. He glanced up warily and saw that a girl's body had collapsed in a nest of white fabric and wilted green hair.

"_That's_ not a poison gas capsule," he breathed, surprised. Leloucia's body was tight and alarmed against, under his, but she shoved him away, yanking off the gas mask that he'd slammed down over her mouth.

"Now will you stop prattling on about nonsense and do something about the _terrorists_?" she demanded. "I don't know what you mean by Leloucia, and obviously they were transporting a _woman_ for some reason."

Terrorist or not, he couldn't help admiring her determination to play the part, even though he had clearly recognized her. Suzaku straightened and got back onto his feet, fumbling with the catch of his helmet. He finally pulled it off and ran gloved fingers through his damp hair. "It's me-- It's Suzaku. You remember, right?"

She started straightening, adjusting her clothes with one hand, but she paused when he said that, glancing up at him, and her violet eyes widened. "--it is you," she murmured.

"I didn't even recognize you," he breathed, looking her over more studiously. Her hair was slightly on the long side, silky black and fine and tied back in a neat queue at the nape of her neck, but her profile was lean and straight, and the overall impression was masculine -- delicate, and _pretty_ in an uncommon way, but she would certainly seem like a man to anyone who didn't remember her in a strappy tanktop and culottes, carrying a basket of vegetables up to the temple for her dinner.

Her voice was a low alto; not masculine, but close enough to pass when she was trying.

"That was the idea." Leloucia stood, brushing off her uniform. "I'd say that same for you, but the truth is more that I never would have expected to find you in the Britannian military."

Her distaste was obvious, and Suzaku felt, bizarrely, like he had something to apologize for. But the reminder steeled him, and his lips tightened. "Why are you with these terrorists?" he asked, trying to sound cool. His thoughts were rushing by so fast. He couldn't let her be turned in -- couldn't sacrifice the girl who had been his closest friend for his own gain. But if he helped her to escape, she'd just end up in this situation again. Maybe if he made her promise--

Leloucia said, "I'm not _with_ these people. I fell into the truck when it crashed off the freeway around an hour ago, and I've been hiding ever since." Her gaze was distant, skimming over his armor, and she added, "If you don't believe me, Rivalz Cartemonde from Ashford Academy can vouch for that."

"No, I believe you," Suzaku told her, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. He wanted to believe her. "Is this-- part of your disguise?"

"Obviously." She offered him a small smile. "If I have to hide in plain sight, I might as well not be me."

Suzaku returned the smile, trying to imagine what her life must be like. Leloucia was intelligent and thorough -- too intelligent, too thorough -- so no one who didn't need to know would be aware that she was a woman. No trips to the beach, no dating; men's locker rooms, men's sports, other girls vying for her attention...

Was that what she wanted? Left to her own devices, or even left in the palaces and villas of her youth... What kind of life would she have led?

"It sounds rough," he said softly, and she said, "Maybe," but did not seem concerned.

He realized that he pitied her, and quickly turned to hide it. The girl who had fallen from the capsule was starting to stir, her amber eyes open and hazy, and he knelt next to her, murmuring an apology as he unfastened the buckles that were holding her arms bound.

Intellectually, he knew that the army would be here any second, and that they wouldn't look kindly on Leloucia's presence, or this girl. Without betraying the identity of their princess -- which was not an option -- there was little he could do to protect either of them. The testament of an Honorary Britannian was negligible, and Leloucia's easy lie about being a duke's son might work, but would never check out under any scrutiny.

So he had to rush them both out of here.

"What name are you going by?" he asked Leloucia, over his shoulder.

She managed a smile. With her lips thin and tense like that, and her eyes cool, she looked like a perfect stranger.

"My new name is--"


End file.
